The Secrets of Sherlock Holmes
by SlytherinSherlockian93
Summary: AU: Sherlock is in his final year of sixth form at school and John is on the football team. Sherlock is dealing with eating disorders and a self harm addiction. Finally meeting John will change his life. Warnings: Self harm and eating disorders.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is only part one, if you like it please review and I'll post the next part. Thanks :)**

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He was going to punch Mycroft next time he came anywhere near him. He had no right what so ever to tease him over the boy he liked. Stupid Mycroft. Although deep down Sherlock couldn't help but think the things his horrid brother had said were was no good for John. John Watson would never be interested in a shy and broken soul like him. Being in his last year of sixth form Sherlock had given up hope at any attempt of friendship with John, let alone anything else. Flopping down on the large four poster bed he gave a long sigh, blinking furiously to try to stop the tears from escaping. Mycroft was right, he was delusional and pathetic. Curling up onto his side his eyes scanned the room, landing on a small locked drawer in his desk. He knew he shouldn't but it felt so nice. Stepping quietly across the bare oak floor he sat in front of the drawer. Breathing heavily he retrieved the key to it, which was underneath a pile of books to the left of the desk. Sliding the old brass key into the lock he twisted it until there was a light click. Closing his eyes he placed his long fingers either side and gently tugged the drawer open, the was a brief squeak from the wood which made him flinch. Getting up onto his knees he peered inside.

Reaching into the dark space he pulled out a packaged wrapped up in a piece of cotton. Standing up, he carried the package to his bed, drawing the curtains around him. He sat cross-legged on the soft sheets and placed the cotton wrapped box in front of him. It had felt like an eternity since he had laid eyes upon it, but who was he kidding he knew it had been more recent than he cared to mention. Undoing the cotton surround revealed a small wooden box. But not just any small wooden box, this box contained the tools of Sherlock's darkest secret. Flicking the little gold latch open he pushed the lid of the box open and gazed intently at the contents. Each piece of his kit was arranged in alphabetical order. Rolling up the sleeve on his purple shirt he decided on the small razor blade. Tracing over fading scars he sighed again. He needed this, this made him feel alive. Pressing the cold metal onto the pale skin of his lower arm his breath hitched as he dragged the blade across, which spilled out crimson droplets in its wake.

He stopped himself after 5 more cuts, the blade was dripping with blood and so was Sherlock's arm. Pulling the cotton wrapping out from under the box he held the material over his cuts. Pressing down hard to stop the bleeding quicker, as the white fabric was turning a dark red colour. There was a slot in the box where he kept large plasters, grabbing two of them and gently placing them over the fresh wounds his breathing started to slow down. He carefully rolled his sleeve back down started to undo the shirt off and replacing it with a long-sleeved jersey. He didn't want to risk Mycroft seeing as that would make his situation ten times worse. He hid the bloodstained cloth under his bed. He would deal with it in the morning. He placed the box back in its secret hiding place and locked the drawer. But instead of replacing the key he held onto it and slipped it into his blazer pocket. There was no way he was leaving this in his room. Not after tonight. He would have to make sure that he was up before Mycroft in the morning so he could shower without prying eyes. Now it was time to sleep, he was exhausted. There where lessons he had to attend tomorrow. Ones he couldn't miss.

Pulling the soft white towel around his shoulders tightly he surveyed the hallway. All clear. He made a dash for his bedroom,  
making sure to keep his steps as light as possible so as not to disturb anyone else as it was still rather early. When he reached the large oak door to his room he carefully slipped inside and closed the door with a soft click. Running his hands through his wet hair he glanced down at the cuts, he would need another plaster before school. And he had to dispose of the fabric under his bed. He rummaged around the back of his wardrobe where he kept spare plasters and stuck two more over the marks. That should hold it. Dragging a fresh shirt out he started to dress, making sure he had buttoned his cuffs securely. Sliding his arm into the blazer he stood and looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror. Pale. Skinny. Mess. The only words he could think of to describe himself. No John would never want him. He rubbed his temples and decided now was a good time to get some breakfast. Exiting the room he slowly descended to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the smug face of his brother. Dressed in a dark pin stripe suit Mycroft Holmes looked out of place in the old kitchen, perched on a stool at the breakfast he greeted the younger Holmes with a sly smile.

Sherlock glared at him from the doorway and proceeded to look extremely interested in the selection of cereals their mother had.  
He heard the stool scrape across the floor and the light clack of Mycroft's patent shoes. He turned to look as his brother left the kitchen. Bastard. He knew what he was doing, tormenting Sherlock without saying anything. Mycroft knew just how to make a person hurt with a single look, a skill he had perfected over the years. Dropping the box of frosted flakes on the counter he groaned loudly, someone had left the milk out all night and it had gone decidedly lumpy. Which was accompanied by a rather revolting smell. Toast it is then. Depressing the lever on the toaster he turned and lent on the cold worktop. He was lost in thought when the toast popped up and startled him, blushing he reached for the butter dish and spread the salty gunk on the bread until it had melted into it. It only took him 3 bites to realise. And he threw the toast in the bin and coughed. Chugging down a glass of water to fill his stomach he grabbed his school bag and stalked to the front door. He shouted goodbye but it fell on deaf ears. Cracking open the door he slipped out into the cool September air and begrudgingly started the walk to school.

The cool morning air rushed past him, making his still damp hair stick to his face. He was nearing the gates when he spotted the small blonde head of John Watson. Dressed in smart trousers and cream jumper he looked delicious, even on a chilly morning. He was with Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper, Sherlock had spent time with Molly before. She was his chemistry partner in year 10. She was a nice enough girl, a little shy but always friendly and accommodating. Whereas Greg was a few years older than him, he was resitting his A Levels. He was on the football team with John and they sat next to each other in English. He also seemed a nice enough boy. Digging his hands into his pockets he pulled his eyes away from John and his friends and entered the gates. Taking the familiar route to his form classroom he started to daydream, about John of course.  
He only noticed what he was doing when he walked straight into a wall and a gaggle of year 8's giggled at him. Stupid children have no respect. He shot them a piercing glance and they shut up quickly.

For once Sherlock was glad for the lunch bell, the loud penetrating ring brought him back. He'd been off thinking about John again instead of finishing his English essay. He heard Greg shift in his seat and he looked at him. Greg smiled and said it's lunch. Sherlock nodded. He started to pack his belongings into his school bag when Greg started to speak again.  
'So Sherlock, did you understand anything she was talking about?' and he gestured towards the teacher. Sherlock was rather taken aback as the boy hadn't spoken to him since the start of term. 'Urm not really I wasn't listening.' his voice came out in a kinda of squeak, and he flushed scarlet. 'Me either, so what are you doing for lunch?' Greg asked with a bright smile. 'Nothing, probably going to the library.' Sherlock said. Looking down at the table, expecting Greg to just shrug him off and go back to not speaking to him. But to his surprise he offered him an invitation to the lunch table he shared with Molly and John. Sherlock looked at him wide-eyed.  
'It's okay if you don't want to, it's just I always see you on your own and you know.' Greg looked embarrassed but Sherlock blushed further.  
'Maybe another time, I've got a lot of homework to do. Chemistry exam next week.' 'Okay, well just let me know.' Greg still beaming, packed his things away and said goodbye. Sherlock let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and stood up from his seat. Stupid. He had just declined and invitation to spend an hour in close company with John. That was it. No lunch today. Not for stupid people.

Sitting in the library he tried to ignore the rumbles from his stomach and focus on the Chemistry text book. But it was starting to become painful so he drained his water bottle, which subdued the pain for a while. He had Chemistry all afternoon so he could use it to take his mind off things. He liked to use the desk at the back of the room so he could concentrate, it was hard to do today though as he kept playing lunch scenarios over and over in his mind. And was glad when the final bell rang. The temperature hadn't improved much since the morning and he wrapped his blazer tighter around his body. He saw John again at the gates, he stood for a moment but this was a mistake as Greg came up behind him and slapped his shoulder. 'Hey Sherlock!' Did his face constantly have that ridiculous smile? 'Up to anything fun tonight?' he asked.  
'Just more homework, Chemistry.' Sherlock felt rather uncomfortable as Greg's arm was still on his shoulder. 'Well here take my number, if you ever wanna hang out just give me a text' He handed Sherlock a small piece of paper with the digits and GREG LESTRADE written in block capitals. All Sherlock could do was smile and nod as he slipped the paper into his blazer pocket. He couldn't help but wonder why he was so desperate for his attentions, when he would much rather it be his shorter friend. He watched him as he approached John, they appeared to get straight into a discussion. Most likely about football. He sighed and began walking home.

He was happy about the way meal times were conducted in his house, it was get it yourself or go hungry. Which made it exponentially easier for him to skip meals. Bypassing the kitchen completely he made his way straight upstairs,  
pulling a clean towel out of the airing cupboard on his way. Once he reached the landing he was glad the bathroom was empty because he wanted a long uninterrupted shower. He entered the spacious bathroom and placed the towel on the heated rail. Tugging his clothes off he turned on the shower. A hot jet of water spurted out the head and then slowed into a steady stream. He caught a glimpse of himself in the large mirror and stood for a moment in his boxers. Staring at the faded red scars on his upper arm and the sharp hip bones jutting from his skin. He traced around the bones and flinched. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, not matter how hard he tried he would never be happy with himself. All he saw was a fat,  
scarred lowlife, even though he knew he was painfully skinny he couldn't shake this image. Shaking his head he moved away from the mirror and stepped into the warmth of the shower, letting the water pour over him and take away from everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Part two! Let me know what you think and part three will be up soon :)**

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Laying on his bed in his baggy pajamas Sherlock closed his eyes and started to day dream about John for the 3rd time today. It was strange the power the smaller boy had over him, no one else had ever captured his attentions so much as him. He wanted to study him, yet at the same time devour him and shag his brains out. He'd only ever had sex once and it wasn't how he had wanted being older enough to get into nightclubs on his own, he'd gone to one a few months ago with Mycroft. He'd met a boy there, well man more than boy. They'd hooked up behind the bins at the back of the club. It was painful, cold and down right nasty. Not really the best place for a young man to lose his virginity. But never mind that. He wondered if John had ever had sex, with a girl or a boy. Thinking about the delicious sounds that would escape his mouth if he were to ravish him to within an inch of his life. Without realising he had started stroking himself through his bottoms. Cracking open his eyes he looked down at the large problem that had formed in his pants from all these dirty thought. It wouldn't hurt just to indulge himself. He didn't masturbate often as he cared very little for anything sexual. But this, this time he allowed himself to be swallowed up by pleasure. To dive into a sweet sea of ecstasy. To think of John.

Picturing John in some tight red pants is what did it. His crisp and lean footballers body with tanned skin and light blonde hair. The way the fabric clung to every inch of him and left nothing to the imagination. And then he ejaculated all in his pants like a dirty teenager. He sat still for a few moments letting the haze of orgasm drift away. He couldn't recall ever coming so hard in his life. Sherlock removed his sticky hand from his underpants and wiped it on the towel he'd left on the floor. Getting up to change his boxers and pajamas he thought back to how cutting his arm felt similar to that.  
After pulling on the fresh clothes he kept glancing between his blazer, where the key was and the drawer. He knew he shouldn't, not again. But it felt so nice. After all he had been stupid today. Pulling out the key quicker than he intended he had got the box and was already sliding the sharp razor blade over his delicate skin. As the blood rushed to the surface in a frenzy of crimson ribbons he groaned. He knew he deserved to hurt.

It was the early hours of the morning before Sherlock had managed to shut his brain up. He kept turning over and thinking whether he should text Greg and tell him he'd like to spend lunch with him, John and Molly. But what if John thought he was some kind of freak. Obviously he wouldn't tell him about the cutting or eating problems. He would just sit there and converse like a normal being and eat whatever the school canteen passed for food. If he ever wanted to get close to John he would have to appear as normal as possible, because John seemed like a very average and normal boy. He reached for his phone several times before finally convincing himself. He picked up the sleek silver touchscreen mobile from his nightstand and began typing the message. 'Hi Greg, it's Sherlock. If you aren't busy at lunchtime I'd like to take you up on your offer.'  
He entered the number and tapped send. Taking a deep breath he replaced the phone and turned over to sleep, hopefully he would have got a response by the morning as he suspected Greg would be asleep by now. The football team had their first proper match soon, so the players should be getting lots of sleep to prepare for it.

Sherlock kept flicking his eyes to the clock every couple of minuets, the lunch bell was getting ever closer. He'd received a reply from Greg before school saying it would brilliant if they could all hang out. But the nearer it got to lunch time the more nervous he was becoming. What if John didn't like him. What if John laughed at him. He shook himself and tried to concentrate on his homework, he'd had a free period this morning. They had arranged to meet by the bike sheds and then head to the canteen. When the deafening ring of the lunch bell came Sherlock scooped his belonging up and shoved them hastily into his school bag and made a dash for the door, he wasn't going to be late for this. He slowed his pace as he was getting out of breath and quickly the sheds came into view. He perched himself on one of the bike racks and waited patiently for them to arrive. He'd been inspecting a cobweb in the corner of the shed when he heard Greg shout his name and wave like a mad person at him. Sherlock smiled and stood up adjusting his bag and blazer, not noticing that John was behind Greg.

'Sherlock, this is John.' Greg pulled the smaller boy out from behind him by his jumper, this time a large knit red one. He smiled widely at Sherlock and held out his hand. Sherlock gingerly placed his hand out in front of him and John clasped it firmly. 'It's great to meet you Sherlock.' The smaller dropped his hand and stepped back to look at Greg. 'So are we off inside or what because I'm chuffing freezing.' He looked back towards Sherlock who nodded furiously in agreement. They headed off back towards the canteen when Greg started to speak.  
'It's a shame Molly was ill today.' He nudged John in the ribs and winked at him. 'Hey! quit it Greg everyone knows it's you that fancies her.' John shoved him lightly back. Sherlock felt himself blush and was happy that John and Greg had chosen to walk in front of him. But to his surprise Greg turned around to him while they waited to enter the canteen and asked him if he thought Molly Hooper was hot.  
'Urrm it's hard to say really, she's pretty but not really my type.'He managed to stutter out, Greg shrugged and gestured towards his chest.  
'I like em' with bigger knockers!' He elbowed John again, still gesturing to his chest. Which made John laugh and bat him around the head. When they entered the canteen the teacher at the door threw them some cautionary glances, as they made their way to the far back table.

Passing the food counter Sherlock's stomach rumbled but he ignored it. Sitting down at the table, he noticed the vinyl top was peeling and the chairs had profanities scrawled all over them. 'So i'm going to get something to eat do you guys want anything?' Greg asked. John nodded and handed him some money.  
'Just some crisps and a ham sandwich please.' He said smiling. Greg looked at Sherlock as if to ask him the same question.  
Sherlock stared at him blankly before stuttering turkey sandwich and placing 1.70 in Greg's hand. They sat in silence for a few moments until John coughed and turned to Sherlock.  
'What A levels are you doing?' Oh god. He was smiling and lord was it gorgeous. He couldn't stop staring at his mouth, licking his lips he let out a short breath. 'Sherlock?' John questioned looking puzzled. Oh god. He was blowing it. The only time he'd got to spend alone with John, and here he was staring at him like a freak. Straightening himself up he told John the A levels he was taking just as Greg returned with their sandwiches. They both ripped into theirs whereas Sherlock took small measured bites. Greg and John started chatting about football, not a subject Sherlock knew much about or rather cared much about really. The only good thing in his eyes to do with football was the lovely young men in tight shorts. But whenever it seemed necessary he nodded and smiled.

He'd only eaten half of his turkey sandwich when the bell signaling the end of lunch rang. He had been so wrapped it in staring at John to notice and it made him jump. He bit his lip and blushed, hoping they hadn't seen but from what Sherlock could see they hadn't. As both of them had been avidly discussing a new film, which Sherlock had to see apparently. Throwing his sandwich in the bin they made their way to the exit. Sherlock felt the food churning in his stomach but resisted the urge to shove his fingers down his throat and throw it all back up again. Instead he waved goodbye to Greg as his lesson was the other side of the school and continued to walk towards the science block with John. 'I do Biology by the way.' John said he cheeks looking a little pink. 'Greg always takes the piss because of it, I wanna be a doctor you know.' Sherlock nodded. 'What do you want to do once you leave this place?' questioned the smaller boy. 'I'm not sure, maybe something forensics based possible police work.' Replied Sherlock with a large grin on his face. It was clear by the expression John was pulling that this had impressed him. 'So you're like really smart then, are you any good at maths?' They had stopped walking when John asked this. It was true Sherlock had done exceptionally well in maths passing the GCSE at age 12 and the A level at age 15. 'Yeah, somewhat good why?' Sherlock turned to look at John, the smaller boy was blushing again. He did look delightful with that tinge of pink about him. 'Because I'm failing.' He said quietly looking at the floor. Sherlock could hardly believe it, John Watson was asking for his help.

Sherlock had agreed to tutor him and John had given him his mobile number. 'Just text me when you're free and i'll work something out.' John said raising his thumb and smiling at him as he entered the Biology class room. The door closed with a soft click and he was alone in the corridor. For a moment he gazed at the scrap of paper in his hand. John's handwriting was awful, he could only just make out the numbers. Suddenly, realising he had Psychology not Chemistry he shoved the paper in his pocket and made a dash for the stairs. Panting he reached the top and checked his watch. 10 minuets late, great Professor Smith would have his head. Entering the room swiftly he was stopped by the voice of Professor Smith.  
'Ah! Mr Holmes, you decided to join us I see.' Sherlock went to apologise but the Professor waved his hand in a signal for him to shut up and sit down. As a punishment for being late he was made to read the whole second chapter of the text book by the end of the lesson. Groaning he reluctantly got on with his task, but John wasn't too far from his mind either.

He spent the last period in the library, smothering himself in a large book on forensic science. He'd placed his mobile phone on the desk so he could check the time quickly, as the clock was obscured from this angle. Glancing over the top of the book he flicked his eyes over to his phone. Wondering if he should text John today and arrange something or wait until tomorrow, maybe the next day. He tossed the options over in his mind, while looking at a rather graphic photograph from the case study he'd been reading about. Coming to the conclusion that texting him tomorrow would be the best as it didn't appear too intense, yet not too blasé either. He smiled with half his mouth and brought his eyes back to the book. Now the task at hand was what to put in the message. Maybe he would start with a casual 'hello how are you'. Or maybe John was a 'hey' kind of guy, he didn't look like a 'hi' person. 'Hi' was too short and unfriendly for John. Yes, John favoured a warm greeting,  
the sort of friend to everyone type.


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n Part three! Please tell me what you think and part four will be on its way soon!**

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Sitting in the Biology class room, resting his head on his hand John Watson wasn't playing attention to the PowerPoint. His thoughts were somewhere else. A high cheek boned somewhere else to be precise. He'd noticed him last year, round about the time he finally given in to himself and confessed that he liked boys and girls. But this was only a personal confession as he hadn't come out to any of friends yet, not sure how they would take something like that. But that didn't mean he couldn't look a Sherlock or think about him. Today had been the first time they had spoken and it had been an awkward meeting for him. What do you say to someone as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes. He'd listened to Greg tell him about how he made the cheeky year nine's cower and how he put one of the sixth form teachers in his place, which ended up in the teacher taking a leave of absence. He was insanely intelligent and sharp, the mind of a genius trapped in a teenage boy. But not just was he smart he was beautifully elegant. His long thin legs and his head of bouncing dark curls gave him a mysterious allure that even James Bond would be envious of. Sherlock Holmes was truly stunning.

After the final bell rang John made his way to the front gates to meet Greg and Molly. They were going to the cinema after school today to catch the last showing of a new spy movie. John wasn't really into spy movies but he knew Greg liked them,  
and he was going to try to get with Molly. So it was going to be 2 hours of John being uncomfortable while his friends danced around each other. He'd walked quite fast to get to the gates which meant he'd have to wait, but then out of the corner of his eye he spotted him. He was lent against the small red brick wall next to the gates, mobile phone in one hand texting like mad and a white cigarette dangling from his fingers in the other. He gracefully lifted the cigarette to his mouth a took a long drag. John's eyes followed every movement, the rise of his chest and the shape his lips made when he expelled the smoke. Licking his lips, John decided to walk over to him.

Sherlock sensed him before seeing him, looking up from his phone he saw John coming towards him. He gave what was his attempt at a smile and dropped his cigarette, crushing it into the ground with the toe of his shoe. 'Hey!' John shouted and raised his hand. Opening with 'hey' he'd been right. 'Hey John.' Sherlock replied placing his phone in his trouser pocket. 'How are you?' He asked. 'Oh can't complain, just waiting for Greg and Molly. We're off to the pictures.' Sherlock nodded and looked behind John to where he could see them exiting the gates, in deep conservation. John turned around when he noticed Sherlock was staring past him.  
'Great, he's already making moves on her. This is going to be so awkward.' He saw John's neck flush a little pink after he said this, obviously he was not looking forward to spending the evening with them. Turning back towards him John smiled again.  
'Say Sherlock are you busy tonight?' Smiling at him John was trying to keep his voice steady. He'd thought about inviting Sherlock to join them since lunch, but hadn't had the courage to ask him then. 'It's just I don't really want to be stuck with them alone for 2 hours.' Sherlock could see the pleading look on his face, and it was adorable. Without really thinking about it he agreed to accompany them. He heard the delight in John's voice when he said he'd go, it was also adorable. He'd never really liked films as the plots seemed obvious and boring to him but it was promise of spending time with John that had helped the decision.

Molly and Greg had decided to walk next to each other, meaning Sherlock had to walk next to John. He was fighting the urge to rip off his clothes and have him right here on the street. But instead he started making deductions about the girl in front of him. Divorced parents, currently living with her father. 2 cats and a goldfish. Early riser, usually before 7am.  
Folds the corners of her pages, instead of using bookmarks. He turned to look at John, who was gazing off into the distance.  
Not really concentrating on where he was walking. Sherlock glanced down at the floor and saw the pavement slab was sticking up, but it was too late to say anything. John had tripped up the slab. Reacting quickly Sherlock grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back up before he hit the ground. The others were too deep in conversation to notice. Standing on the path holding onto John's arm, Sherlock was staring at him. 'Thanks.' John breathed and blushed at the fool he had made of himself, but then looked back at Sherlock and burst into a fit of giggles. Which was then joined by a beautifully deep rumble of laughter that came from Sherlock's mouth. They were both holding their ribs from laughter when Greg spun around and shouted at them to catch up. For the rest of the journey John and Sherlock kept making sideways glances at each other and giggling.

Once they had bought their tickets John suggested they get some popcorn. Queuing up at the stand in the center of the large lobby Sherlock's palms were starting to get sweaty. He took a deep breath and swallowed. 'Hey Sherlock are you okay?' John asked looking concerned. 'I'm fine it's just a bit warm in here.' John was still looking at him but nodded and smiled. The woman who served them at the counter had a syrupy voice and was about 5ft 4in, she had to stretch to reach the drinks cups. John had ordered one of those brightly coloured slushy things and a large popcorn, whereas Sherlock got a large diet coke and small packet of skittles. He'd got a bit of a spot for skittles, he liked the fruity flavours and the crunchy shells. Carrying their snacks over to the doors leading to the screens a rather surly looking woman asked for their tickets. Ripping off part of them and handing them back she opened the door and let them in.

Locating the screen the film was being shown on Greg opened the door for them. Leading Molly to the back row he winked at John, who rolled his eyes in response. John waited by the middle row for Sherlock, gesturing for them to sit there. He looked confused at John because of the departure of their company, to which was answered by a another gesture towards the back of the room. Making their way down the row they chose 2 seats in the middle of the screen, which Sherlock said was best for viewing as the whole screen was visible from that angle. They were a bit early as the silly adverts were still playing and the other people around them were still chatting. Placing the popcorn between his thighs John sipped his slushy concoction and looked up at the screen. He could see Sherlock out of the corner of his eye fiddling with the top of his skittles. For someone so brilliant to be baffled by a simple sweet packet was quite funny and John stifled a giggle, not very well. Sherlock looked at him a blushed pushing the sweets back into his pocket. Picking up his coke from the floor the lights dimmed and the trailers started.

Sherlock had already worked out most of the plot of the film, but it was still enjoyable to watch. He had an idea brewing in the back of his mind. John's popcorn was still located between his legs, he wondered if he could reach and grab a little bit and just 'accidentally' stroke John's thigh. Leaning onto the armrest closest to John he started putting his plan into action.  
He slowly slid his hand down towards the bag, letting his fingers catch the top of John's leg for a little longer than he had anticipated. He felt him flinch a little at the touch. Grabbing a few pieces of popcorn Sherlock pulled his arm back.  
Popping a piece of the sweet crunchy corn into his mouth he sat back at felt a bit silly. He'd felt John flinch, maybe he had freaked him out or made him uncomfortable. He saw him move the popcorn from his lap to the armrest on his other side and shift in his seat, Sherlock could see his face begin to colour slightly, even in the dark room. But for fear of making John even more uncomfortable he kept his eyes on the screen.

John was panicking. Now was not the time to get a hard on. It was Sherlock's fault, if he hadn't touched his leg when he reached for his popcorn then this wouldn't have happened. The top of John's thigh happened to be one of his extremely sensitive turn on spots. And because Sherlock had stroked it and well because it was him that had done it John was now left with a problem. It didn't help that Sherlock was looking absolutely beyond gorgeous, the screen lit up his face and made his features stand out more than usual. His pale skin and cheekbones really went off in this light, and they way his hair was curled around his ear. He saw Sherlock's hand move as he ran it through his curls, this made John's problem stand to attention even more. Reducing the comfortable space in his pants very quickly. He realised he was staring at Sherlock instead of the screen, just as he went to turn his head back to the screen Sherlock met his gaze. He had an inquisitive look on his face, a sort of why are you staring at me? look.

John felt his face turn a darker shade of pink as Sherlock's eyes searched all over his face. He could see the other boy was trying to work out what was causing his distress, hopefully he wouldn't. Suddenly there was a loud scream which came from the screen, the main character had run into the murderer. This made John and Sherlock jump and grab hold of each others hands, because they were too busy staring at each other to notice the film. The scene in the was kind of brutal and he could feel John still had hold of his hand, quite tightly. After the scene, John tensed remembering he still had hold of Sherlock's hand, blushing again he let go and smiled. His cheeks would be permanently red at this rate. Sherlock too looked a little startled and smiled back, moving his hand back into his lap. The film continued to run for another half an hour or so, but the scenes had got gradually more graphic the further towards the end they got. There had been another point where John had felt like reaching for Sherlock's hand but he refrained, as he didn't want to make himself feel more foolish. As the credits rolled and the lights turned back on Sherlock stood up and stretched. John had finally got rid of his problem when this happened. His long arms reached up high above his head, pulling his shirt up slightly to reveal his hip bones and a small trail of dark hair running down into his trousers. This sent a flutter southward.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n Part four! Please leave me a review, reviews make me happy. Part five will be a bit along the way yet so enjoy!**

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After pushing through the people who had crowded the lobby they finally made it outside. Sherlock leaned against one of the walls by the car park and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, which was followed by a silver Zippo lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out slowly. He could see John looking at him so he turned towards him.

'So how did you find the film?' John asked, his face still a little pink from blushing and the sudden blast of cold air,  
which hit them when they exited the building. 'It was...Interesting.' Interesting, was the only word Sherlock could think of to describe the experience. He was still unclear on what caused John's reaction to his touch. 'Do you know where Greg and Molly have got to? He was my lift home.' John lived the other side of town from here and his mother didn't drive. 'So how are you getting home?' Sherlock questioned, to which John replied with a shrug and a frown. Whipping his phone out Sherlock began to text quickly.  
'Would you like to come over to my house John? My brother could arrange to get you home, if you like.' Searching his contacts for Mycroft's name, he pressed send. Mycroft was in Sherlock's bad books right now, so he was making him pay for it by getting him to do everything for him.

John's face suddenly turned from a frown into a wide smile.  
'If that's okay with your parent's Sherlock, I wouldn't want to intrude.' John blushed again. He really needed to do something about that. 'My family aren't around much, just my brother mostly.' Sherlock answered flicking his cigarette end, John watched the little orange dot loop in the air and disappear. Sherlock's phone bleeped in his pocket and a large shiny black car pulled up outside the cinema. Nodding to John, to say this was for them Sherlock opened the door of the car. Once they set off towards Sherlock's house he could see John fidgeting out of the corner of his eye.  
'Problem?' He asked.  
'Urm no it's just, is this your brother car? because it's really fancy.' He looked in awe at the interior. 'It's one of them, he has plenty to spare.' Sherlock replied not looking up from his phone. The car slowed to a stop outside a large 3 story house with a gravel front garden and big bay windows. 'Mr Holmes.' The driver called through to the back, which made Sherlock look up. He thanked the driver and got out of the car, holding the door for John again. 'And this is your house?' John pointed at the house, his mouth open slightly. To which Sherlock nodded and pushed open the gate.

Unlocking to door, he ushered John inside. The small boy looked even smaller with the vaulted ceilings of the entrance hall. 'This way.' Sherlock said striding up the stairs. John was still stood awkwardly in the entrance hall, taking in the surroundings. This was not how he pictured Sherlock's house to look. There were no homely things, like family pictures or trinkets just pale cream walls, a strange piece of artwork, and a mirror. 'John.' Sherlock shouted from the landing, this made him jump a little and he made his way up the stairs. It was quite hard for him to get up them quickly as the steps where large, and John being not gifted with stature was a little slow. When he reached the top he saw Sherlock tapping away on his phone again. '3rd door on the left is my room, I have to make a phone call.' He pointed down the corridor and John nodded. He saw his curly hair disappear back down the stairs, so he made his way down to Sherlock's room.

When John reached Sherlock's door he twisted the handle and it clicked open. Pushing gently on the wood of the door he entered the room. Sherlock's room was nothing like the rest of the house. There were clothes on the floor in small piles and books everywhere. On every available surface there was at least on book perched on it. His room had one of the big windows like on the front of the house, there was a seat in the window with his laptop, an ashtray, and a skull on the window sill. The blue curtains on his bed were drawn and the desk chair was covered in books and clothes, so it looked like the window seat was the safest place to sit and wait for him to come back. John walked over and flopped down into the corner of the seat, picking up the skull and inspecting it. He wondered if it was a real skull, with Sherlock being well Sherlock he suspected it was and put it down quickly. He heard a door slam downstairs and footsteps coming back up the stairs.  
When Sherlock appear leaning on the door frame, still texting.

Sherlock walked into the room, pushing the door closed with his foot and sliding his phone into his jacket. Moving over to where John was sat, he opened his window and took out another cigarette. 'You know those are bad for your lungs?' John said pointing at the cigarette 'They cause breathing problems.' Sherlock raised his eyebrow, flicked his lighter and took a drag.  
'Urgh breathing's boring.' Taking another drag. 'Would you like to stay for dinner?' Sherlock asked tapping the ash into the crystal ashtray. 'My brother isn't answering his phone so getting home won't be until later, would you like to ring your parents? tell them you are here.' Flipping the silver mobile in the air He passed it over. John smiled and tapped in his home phone number, his mother had a mobile but rarely answered it. She proclaimed that it confused her, she really wasn't very good with technology.

The light dialing tone beeped in his ear and went on for what felt forever, before he heard his mother's chirpy voice.  
'Hello?' Even Sherlock heard it from the phone, her voice seemed to resonate out of the speaker and around the room penetrating everything. Sherlock began trying to deduce what John's mother was like. Short, blonde hair like John. Green, no Hazel eyes and wore lots of jewelry.  
She had a small dog, Yorkshire terrier. He could hear it the background from the phone. 'Hey mum it's John, I'd just thought I'd tell you I'm at a friend's house and I'll most likely be late home.' John was smiling and nodding, I hope he realised his mother couldn't see him.  
'Okay sweetheart, just be quiet when you get in, your sister is asleep.' Another resonating sentence from the mouth of Mrs Watson. So he had a sister, judging by the context of the sentence a younger sister. 'Alright mum, I'll see you later I love you.' Hanging up and passing the expensive phone back to Sherlock, John looked at him and smiled again. 'So, what's for dinner?'

Getting up from the window seat swiftly, Sherlock grabbed his cigarette packet and gestured for John to follow him. Moving back down the staircase and down another corridor, John had found himself being led into a spacious kitchen. Equipped with what appeared to be every kitchen appliance known to man. Standing in the doorway of the room, mouth a gape he saw Sherlock giggle. 'Your house is massive, seriously.' Were the only words John could muster. Walking into the room, he perched himself on one of the tall breakfast bar stools. Pulling a giant cookbook out from one of the cupboards, Sherlock joined him on the stools.  
Making a bit less of a prat of himself as he didn't need to jump a little, like John did. Dropping the book down on the granite worktop Sherlock stared at the cover. 'Have you ever actually cooked anything before?' John asked, there was a note of concern in his voice. Concern which was heighten when Sherlock answered 'no'. Opening up the book, they scanned the pages for something that looked simple to make.  
After ten minuets of flicking they eventually found a pasta recipe. Sliding down from the stools, they set to work on finding the ingredients.

Sherlock had managed to find a few items on the list of ingredients and had set John to work chopping tomato's. He was searching the cupboard above the stove for pasta. Stretching up to reach the back of the cupboard, his trousers started to slide down. He could feel John's eye's on him, so instead of pulling them up he reached into the cupboard further. His arms were right at the back of the cupboard and he could feel the top of his pants and lower back were on display. He was glad the underwear he'd chosen was sensible, not some scruffy worn out thing. Pulling his head out, he looked at John who was again blushing. So to lighten the mood slightly, Sherlock aimed a piece of pasta at his head. He saw John jump and pull a face. But moments later he had grabbed a piece of tomato and launched it across the room. It hit him square in the face, and slid down onto his shirt. Leaving a slimy trail down his face. John had called it, it was now on. In a blur of pasta, sauce and flour they found themselves covered from head to toe in the contents of Sherlock's kitchen.

Giggling, they finally decided to order a pizza. Sherlock made the call and within minuets the door bell was ringing. Walking to the front door, Sherlock was beaming. He hadn't been this happy in a long time. Greeting the young delivery boy,  
he remember he was covered in flour and pasta sauce. Slapping the money in his hand, the boy left in a hurry. Balancing both pizza boxes, Sherlock made his way back to the kitchen. Pushing the door of the kitchen open with his foot, he saw John's face light up. 'Pizza!' Sherlock shouted with a smile on his face. Sliding the box across the breakfast bar to John, he sat down on the stool. Picking up a slice John munched happily and Sherlock watched him, he looked so happy. He was blissfully unaware of how this simple act made Sherlock feel. Pushing his own slice around the box he was reluctant to eat it, but to avoid suspicion he did. He had only managed 3 slices before John had finished his. Placing his and John's boxes in the bin they exited the kitchen and John sniffed his shirt.  
'Wow, I really need a shower.' flicking a piece of tomato off his shirt as he spoke. An idea formed in Sherlock's mind.  
'You can use mine, if you like.' Sherlock pointing to the floor above, were the bathroom was.  
'If that's okay, sure.' Before John had finished speaking Sherlock was already bounding up the stairs, towel in hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n Part five! Please let me know what you think and part six will be on its way soon :D**

* * *

Showing John how to turn the shower on Sherlock left the bathroom. Standing in the airy bathroom and surveyed the strange selection of bathing products, displayed in alphabetical order on the rack. Stripping down to his red pants John turned on the shower and waited for the water to run warm. When it did, he dropped his pants and stepped under the flow of water. Running his fingers through his hair and fishing out bits of tomato and lumps of congealed flour. It felt a bit odd to be showering in someone he'd known briefly's house, but it just felt right. You know being here with Sherlock felt normal and John hoped that their friendship would progress and possibly blossom into something more. But John didn't have his hopes up for something like that to happen. As he'd said before, Sherlock was too brilliant to be interested in him. Grabbing the bottle of fruity smelling shampoo. He laughed, the bottle was pink. So Sherlock used ladies shampoo, no wonder his hair smelt like raspberries. Thinking about it, in the cinema he could smell Sherlock's hair. The smell was enticing, he wanted to run his fingers through those loose curls. He felt his cock twitch at this thought so he stopped thinking about it.  
It wasn't proper to masturbate in your friends shower.

Once he had got every last trace of flour from his skin, John stepped out of the shower. The mirror had steamed up,  
so out of habit he wrote 'JOHN' in big letters on the silvery surface. He hoped Sherlock didn't mind. Grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist he left the bathroom in a cloud of steam and walked towards Sherlock's room. Tapping lightly on the door he heard Sherlock's low voice rumble through the wood, and he entered the room. Sherlock was sat on the window seat again, book in one hand and cigarette in the other still covered in pasta sauce. He looked kind of funny.  
'Showers free.' John said hoisting his towel up over his hips, as it had slipped down whilst walking. Sherlock looked up, not knowing that John had come into his room in just a towel and dropped his cigarette. 'Ouch!' He cried as the hot tip burnt a hole in his trousers and left a red mark on his skin. Both blushing, Sherlock stood up.  
'Would you like a clean shirt?' He offered pointing at his wardrobe. 'Sure, thanks.' John said pulling his red underwear out from the rest of his clothes. Sherlock turned his back and opened his wardrobe. There was a small mirror on the inside of the door, which he angled so he could just see John behind him.  
As he looked for a shirt, he glanced into the mirror.

John had dropped the towel and was putting his underwear back on. He was bent over, naked in his bedroom and he had a front row seat. Quiet literally. When he had pulled his trousers up Sherlock grabbed the first shirt he saw and closed the wardrobe quickly. Passing the cream shirt to John, he picked up another towel from his bedroom floor.  
'I'm going for a shower, make yourself comfortable. There are books and my laptop is on if you would like to use it.'  
He disappeared out the door, again leaving John alone in his bedroom. He really did need a shower, his hair was sticking together and the tomato was giving off an awful smell. But he did recall the fruity essence that entered the room along with John, he had used Sherlock's shampoo. Glancing at the mirror as he walked into the bathroom he spotted it, the large letters written on the mirror which made him smile as he wiped them off. Stripping off his dirty clothes he placed them on the floor and hung up the fresh ones on the back of the door, he taken his clean clothes in with him so that John couldn't ask about the scars or the current plaster. He wasn't ready to tell him or anyone just yet.

Stepping out of the shower, Sherlock cleaned the condensation off the mirror once more. He stood looking at himself. What was he doing, he was such a mess. His wet hair all stuck to his face and the towel hanging off his bones. He felt the pizza sitting in his stomach and it made his feel queasy. Grabbing his toothbrush he knelt in front of the toilet. Sliding the end into his mouth and down his throat, he retched and coughed. He'd have to be quieter, in case John heard him. He pushed the end further down this time and he felt it bubble up as he spilled his dinner out into the toilet. He pushed the toothbrush down again when he heard a tap on the door and a little voice.  
'Sherlock? Are you okay?' It was John. He had heard him. Frozen to the spot momentarily he shouted 'Yeah' shakily.  
'Dodgy pizza I guess.' And heard John's footsteps retreat back to his bedroom. That was close he would have to be more careful in the future. Standing up, he reached for his clothes and began to dress. Wrapping the white towel around his shoulders so he could scrub his hair dry as he left.

Flinging the towel on the floor as he entered the room Sherlock pulled out his mobile, which beeped as he did. Unlocking the screen and opening the message he rolled his eyes.  
'Sending my best car to cater to my little brothers every need - MH' Mycroft was an unbearable bastard. Locking the screen he slid it onto the bedside table. 'My brother has sent a car to take you home.' He said turning to face John, who was sat on the edge of his bed. John looked down at his shoes and fiddled with hem of his shirt. Lifting his face slowly he locked eyes with Sherlock and smiled. 'Thanks, you didn't have to you know.' He said blushing. To which made Sherlock blush. John got up from the bed and walked towards Sherlock. 'Thanks again.' Hugging him round the waist. Sherlock froze. He wasn't expecting John to do that, lifting his arm slightly he lightly patted John's shoulder. 'It's no problem.' Sherlock said as John pulled out of the hug, still smiling, he looked back down at his shoes. Sherlock lent forward without really knowing what he was doing and brushed his hand against John's. John looked up and jumped as an extremely loud car horn blasted twice, loud enough to make the window frame rattle a little. John shook himself and Sherlock looked beyond embarrassed. 'It seems your ride is here.' He said opening the door and disappearing down the stairs. Following him down he saw the front door was open, there was a cold draft flowing in and John wrapped his arms around his body tightly. Walking out into the dark John saw Sherlock bent over, leaning on the car door talking to the driver.

John stood staring at Sherlock's arse, the tight material of his trousers perfectly flush against his skin. 'John, are you ready?' Sherlock asked standing up and pulling the hem of shit shirt down. John nodded and walked towards the car. 'So urm I'll see you at school then.' John smiled and opened the door, sliding into the back seat. As the shiny sports car pulled away he looked back, Sherlock was stood at the gate of the house. Turning away he smiled widely and inhaled, he smelt like Sherlock's shower gel. Thinking back about his almost wank in the shower he stifled a laugh. The car slowly turned into a cramped road where John's house was situated. As the car slowed to a stop outside a small red brick house, John cringed at the peeling paintwork and dying plants. Sherlock's house was much nicer than his, and larger. He thanked the driver and watched the car drive away. Digging his hand into his pocket he plucked his house key out. Jumping the small garden wall instead of going round it he bounded towards the door, slipping the key in and shoving it just hard enough to stop it from sticking. He could hear the T.V on in the living room, kicking off his shoes in the hallway he walked towards the sound. Pushing lightly on the worn wood he peered his head into the room. His mum was sat curled up on the beige sofa with a chipped coffee mug and a blanket. 'Hiya Mum.' He said quietly, so he didn't wake his sister. 'Really gotta get that heating fixed.' grinning at her. She tilted her blonde head towards him and stuck her tongue out.  
'Good night?' She asked. John nodded, blushing slightly.  
'That good eh?' She said winking at him. John scoffed and rolled his eyes, pulling the door shut. He headed towards the stairs. She had no idea just how good a night John had had.

Slipping into his bedroom, John sighed and looked around. His room was nothing like Sherlock's. Photos of friends and family spattered all over the walls and numerous band and football posters. His room was also painted a duck egg blue colour with matching bed sheets, which were bunched up and one pillow on the floor. Picking up the pillow he flopped down onto his bed and looked up at the ceiling. Pulling the pillow down across his face he sighed into it, trying to push the smell of Sherlock into the fibers. Groaning he flung the pillow away and snaked his hand down his torso to the rapidly forming lump in his trousers. Sherlock really did smell good, and he had a gorgeous arse. Rubbing his palm gently over the bump he thought about Sherlock's arse, how firm it looked, nice and round. He'd kill to run his hands over it, squeeze it, slap it. Unfastening his trousers he slipped his cock out of his underwear and felt a sticky drop of pre-cum drip onto his hip. Stroking his cock gently he started thinking about Sherlock in the shower, the way the water would flow over his delicate pale skin. His taut body flushed by the heat, covered in soft white lather. John sped up his strokes and used his other hand to pinch his nipple lightly. Pushing his hips up with every movement he flung his hand to his mouth and bit down on the skin. He could feel the heat building in his stomach as the pleasurable heights of orgasm reared into view. Biting down harder on his hand he came spectacularly hard in a few sharp spurts, which covered the shirt he was wearing. As the haze bubbled up in his brain, he licked his lips, breathing heavily.

After a few moments he felt himself slowly slide back to earth and sat up gingerly. 'Gross.' He said, looking down at the front of his shirt. Cursing remembering it was Sherlock's shirt, he'd have to wash it before he returned it. Pulling the soiled shirt over his head he threw it on the floor and pulled his trousers off, pushing his cock gently back into his underwear. Stretching he picked up the fallen pillow and pulled back his duvet. He tossed and turned for a few minuets to get comfortable. He pulled the covers up to his chin and was encased in warmth, pushing softly into his pillow he closed his eyes. Drifting quickly off to sleep. Sadly this wasn't the same story for Sherlock, instead of falling blissfully into sleep he was pacing around his bedroom. He'd been pacing practically since john had left, well since he'd finished staring off at the car that is. Stopping to look out his window he realised how much his feet hurt and that it would most likely be best to sit down. Flopping down onto his bed Sherlock pondered the days events. John Watson had been naked in his house, none the less in his room. And yet he did nothing. He really need to get a grip and stop being so silly.  
Suddenly it struck him, John had heard him throwing up. Groaning he covered his face with his hands and sighed. He hoped John didn't think anything of it. Sighing again he stood up and began searching the piles of washing for some clean pyjamas.

Finally finding a pair old sports shorts and stretched purple t-shirt he decided to go to bed. The shorts were a bit tight around his arse, but the shirt hung off his shoulders. When he was younger he used to pull his t-shirts over his knees,  
usually to keep him warmer. He walked over to his wardrobe and opened out the mirrored door. Turning sideways he pulled up the shirt and looked down at himself. His ribs were visible, but only just. His hipbones still jutted prominently out of his pale skin, tracing them with his fingers he wondered what it would feel like if it was John touching them. Bringing his finger slowly across the waistband of his shorts, which sat below his hips he shuddered as a tingling sensation ran through him. He'd love John to do that to him, maybe with his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, moving his finger up the middle of his body towards his chest, catching his finger in the spattering of dark hair that led up from his shorts. Opening his eyes he let out his breath slowly, tugging his shirt back down he moved over to his bed. Checking his phone one last time he threw it onto his bedside table and fitted himself between the covers. Pushing his curls out of his face he slipped one arm under his pillow and curled up to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was awoken by a shrill sound. Turning onto his side he looked bleary eyed at the clock. He'd forgotten to turn off his alarm for school and he was awake at half seven on a Saturday. Slamming his hand down on the off button he shoved his face into his pillow cursing. He wasn't really a morning person. He reached blindly for his phone, his face still in the pillow. Once he'd located it, he sat up and flicked the bright screen on. A text from John. 'Would you like to hang out with me, Greg and Molly later?' He'd received it at 7. John woke up early, even on weekends. Tapping a reply quickly Sherlock smiled, John did want to be his friend. His phone vibrated in his hand, it was a reply from John. 'Meet us at 10 next to the statue in town.' Not noticing his legs were caught up in his sheets, Sherlock stood up rather quickly. Tangling the sheets even more and he fell on his face. 'Ouch.' He said rubbing his nose and glaring at the sheets. Sherlock untangled himself from the sheets and went downstairs. Sitting at the breakfast bar he stuck his nose into a large book.

Flicking his eyes up to wall clock it only just registered what the time was. It was half past nine. He had half an hour to get washed and dressed and to town.  
"Shit." He sighed. Dragging himself back upstairs and scooting over to his wardrobe. He began digging through to find something appropriate. After spending a good ten minutes deciding on a shirt or t-shirt he settled on a pale blue shirt. Dunking his head under the shower spray was the best he had time for. With one final tug he pulled the dark skinny jeans over his bum and slid down the balustrade. Grabbing his favourite coat and scarf he slipped his shoes on and walked out the door. John wouldn't mind if he was slightly late plus he had more of his families money to spend he hailed a taxi. As the driver slowly made his way through the streets Sherlock couldn't hide the smile that was creeping onto his face every second the got closer to town.  
When the driver finally pulled up as near to the statue as possible Sherlock flung the money at him and bounded out of the taxi and up to the statue. He could see Greg and Molly but not John. Sherlock checked his watch, 10.15am.

Greg spotted him and raised a tan hand. "Hey Sherlock! John text me to say you where coming. He's just popped into the shop." Well that cleared up where John was.  
Greg lent on the base of the statue and linked arms with Molly. Who at this gesture became a giggling mess. Sherlock pulled his cigarette packet out of his coat, there was more missing than he remembered. Mycroft. Sneaky bastard. Shaking his head he slid one out and lit it. Pulling in harshly on the first toke as Molly's' incessant giggly laughter was already annoying him.  
John was cursing the cashier right now. A woman of about 70 was taking forever and a day to place his money in the till and get his change. But smiled through the frustration. He'd gone to buy some sweets for later as he hoped that Greg and Molly would leave pretty early so that he could spend time with Sherlock. He wasn't sure how he felt about him. There was this strange pull he had on John, the more time he spent with him the stronger the hold was. When the woman finally handed him his change he smiled politely and existed the shop quickly. Taking longer strides the normal he bounded up towards the statue. Clocking Greg and Molly lent on the base looking deeply interested in each other but he couldn't see Sherlock. His smiled faded slightly. But John spotted a flash of dark curls. Sherlock was half way up the statue peering down into a crevice poking some moss. John's smile returned.

When John reached them he smiled at Greg.  
"Ready?" John questioned. To which Greg answered with a nod and a gesture towards Sherlock. Who was still up the statue. "Sherlock?" John called up. When a flushed face framed by curls peeked round the statue John had to stifle a giggle. "John." Replied Sherlock. In one swift movement he was down the statue and stood elegantly next to him. John jumped slightly and then pointed towards the edge of town. It was nearing midday when the finally arrived at the small clump of trees located on the edge of town. John was glad for the sheltered trees as the sun was uncharacteristically hot today. There was a small clear pond in the center of some bent trees and a grassy field just peeking out towards the right. John and his sister had found this place by chance, he liked the way the air flowed through the trees high above them. How the water in the pond was clear. How soft the grass felt. The pond in the middle was about 6 feet in diameter but about waist deep, well waist deep on everyone except John to which it was almost chest deep.

There was a small lip the stuck out over one edge of the pond which looked perfect for them to sit on. "Let's sit over here." John pointed to the edge which was greeted with nods and hums that it was an acceptable place to sit. They sat down and John chatted away while Sherlock sat quietly, taking in his surroundings and wondering why John had brought them here. Sherlock was picking over the moss he saw on the statue in his mind when he was interrupted by John.  
"Sherlock?" He questioned "You okay? You've been sat there not talking for almost an hour." Sherlock then flicked his eyes over in John's direction to notice that it was only him sat there, blushing lightly. He could tell by the imprints in the grass that Molly and Greg had been gone quite some time. Suddenly realising that John had been sat watching him, by himself for at least half an hour made a similar blush creep on Sherlock. Sherlock felt like he and John were in a bubble, that it was only them that existed at that moment. When John got up and swiftly removed his shirt. "Coming in?" He asked raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. To which John received a shake of the head. Sherlock watched John take off his jeans and slide into the pond. His head was spinning, and his tongue felt like sandpaper.

John was swimming from one end of the pond to the other, floating up on his back every now and then. Sherlock had rolled his jeans up as far as they would go and was dipping his feet in the cool water. The sun was right above them and blazing,  
Sherlock could feel his back burning. So he removed his coat and layed down, with his feet still in the water. He heard John splash around near him. John had got out of the pond and was about to lay down next to Sherlock. John placed himself next to Sherlock and stretched out in the hot sun. Sherlock turned his head. He gazed down Johns taught body, letting his eyes hold on light tufts of hair poking out of his boxers. He swallowed hard. Trying to suppress the urge to run his hands all over the lightly tanned skin of John's hips. Feeling a slight twinge in his belly he swallowed again. Closing his eyes against the harsh light he let out a long breath and flopped his arms to his sides. Sherlock felt john move. He brushed his finger tips over the top of his hand. And from what followed next he knew it wasn't by accident. 


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you tickleish?" John asked as they soaked up the sun.  
"A little wh-" Sherlock's sentence was cut off by John straddling his hips and tickling his sides. He squirmed underneath John howling  
with laughter. When John finally gave in from the slapping and shouts of stop he got off from on top of Sherlock and sat next to him.  
His face was red and blotchy from the heat. Sherlock sat up holding his arms around his waist to protect the ticklish areas and turned to face John. He reached out a hand toward John but retracted it quickly. John caught the hand before it was fully snatched away and held it gently between his fingers. Staring down at the pale skin in his fingertips he stroked his thumb across the top of Sherlock's hand. He flicked his eyes up to Sherlock whose gaze was firmly on their hands, he noticed his breathing had become shallow. With his other hand John lifted Sherlock's chin so that their eyes met. "Hi." Was all that John could muster and he swallowed hard after saying it.

John's hand moved from Sherlock's chin to his cheek. He felt the soft pale flesh and saw it flush pink. He pulled Sherlock closer to him, so much that their noses were inches from each other. "Hi." Sherlock squeaked back and pressed his lips lightly on John's. He slowly pulled his face away and searched over the tinted pink cheeks of the other boy, when the hand that was on his cheek was in his hair. The soft touch had become slightly rougher. They slid their lips over each others, it was messy and uncoordinated but nice. John's lips tasted salty from sweat and they were soft under Sherlocks. John pulled away from the embrace and sat up a bit straighter.  
"Well urm we should probably get back.." He stood and began to dress. Sherlock hadn't moved, he was still in a sort of daze from what had just happened. He heard John cough and he snapped back, standing at an alarming pace and following the smaller boy out of the trees quickly.

They walked back to town in silence until they reached the statue where they had started.  
"So urm i'll see you at school on Monday?" John asked quietly. Sherlock nodded trying to focus his brain. John left quietly. Pulling his thoughts together finally he turned and John was gone. Breathing out loudly he set off back towards his house. Sliding into the kitchen when he arrived home he dug through the cupboards to try and find something even slightly edible. Settling on a pack of chocolate biscuits and a tub of ready made cake icing he retreated to his bedroom. Grabbing his laptop he flung himself on his bed, ripping the lid of the tub of icing and delving his fingers into the gooey goodness. He browsed at new goggles and test tube racks while he licked the chocolate off his fingers. After eating half the tub and more than he cared to remember of the biscuits he threw them under his bed and shut off his laptop. He padded over to his wardrobe and pulled open the door. Glancing in the mirror he spotted the icing stuck to the corner of his lip. Wiping it away he pulled out his shirt and shorts, changing quickly he turned out the light and got into bed. He could feel the biscuits sitting in his stomach, he'd had a moment of weakness because he for once felt almost blissfully happy about the days events. Closing his eyes he hoped by morning the feeling would have gone.

Sherlock awoke the next morning feeling sick, sick with himself for having such a graphic dream. And for eating like a pig when he got in. Rising slowing he padded to the bathroom and shoved his fingers down the back of the his throat, but only managing to cough and spit out bile. His hands shaking as he brushed the horrid taste out of his mouth. Running his hands under the cold tap then through his matted curls he took a deep breath. He'd kissed John Watson yesterday. He turned on the shower and stepped in. Sitting in the dusty library at the rear of the house Sherlock gazed out of the large glass panels that made up one wall. Clutching the old book he'd been reading, his mind was hastily constructed another John related scenario. This time they were sat under the tree in the garden kissing and cuddling, one of his less graphic fantasies. His daydreaming wasn't even interrupted when the housekeeper entered the room. She balanced a tea tray and tapped the door as she entered the room.  
"Tea Sherlock dear, that looks like an interesting book." a lovely yet rather flustered woman Mycroft has hired since their parents were rarely there.

Snapping the book shut he turned in his chair, just as she left the room. He looked down at the silver tea tray, she has used his favourite mug. A yellow and black striped one with bumble bee wings are the handle. She only used this one when she was either worried about him or was happy for him. She'd used it when he came home crying from primary school because some boys had thrown eggs at him, filled it with juice not tea. His John induced happiness was obviously more noticeable than he'd imagined it to be. He spent a good portion of the day filling his head with words only moving to pull the curtains across as the bright sun blazed through. Around 6.30pm he wandered into the kitchen and stopped blustering around the hob. Pans bubbling and a warm aroma radiating through the air.  
"Evening Sherlock read anything interesting today?" She questioned hardly looking up from the pans. To which was answered with a small nod. He had began to think could read minds as she always knew what he was thinking. "So how's that lovely young lad you had over the other night?" Turning to face him with a warm smile as she spoke.

Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl he tossed it into his other hand and took a bite. "What about him?" Sherlock asked leaning his hips on the counter.  
"What's his name?" She asked dropping in some kind of spice to a large pan.  
"John Watson." He answered through a mouth full of apple. turned and gave his actions a disapproving look. He held his hands up in apology and turned to leave the kitchen.  
"When are you seeing him again?" She called.  
"Tomorrow." Throwing the apple in the bin as he left he walked back to the library and buried himself into a big dusty book.


End file.
